Not Another High School Fic!
by thegirloverhere
Summary: So, are you tired of AU high school fics? Wanna see what our favorite team really might have been doing in high school? 1st Abby. 2nd Tony. 3rd Ziva. 4th Gibbs is stuck in detention when he sees something curious outside the window.
1. Abby

Not Another High School Fic!

**My "Not Another" senses were tingling. (Hopefully) realistically what our lovely characters might be doing in high school. Just like in my Jet Lag fic, I have no idea about settings so I'm doing research and taking guesses. If anyone wants to correct my descriptions, please do.**

Abby

The school was an old one, and that's what Abby liked about it. Living in New Orleans had it's perks, good food, good music, good punk scene and great staircases. Glancing around, Abby swung her back pack over her shoulder and clambered atop the rail. She adjusted her self till she straddles the wood, and then tugged the loose part of her plaid skirt into a knot, as, all in all, Abby was a lady. Then, with a fearless (but silent as not to alert any teachers that might be lurking) war cry, Abby propelled herself down the wooden rail of the staircase, speeding downwards till she flew off the bottom and landed crouched at her feet with precision that only comes with years of practice. She dusted her hands, untied her skirt, and continued on her leisurely stroll out of the school.

Walking out of the courtyard, she stood in front of the school gates. Thank God for spring. Abby tugged her button down white shirt out of her skirt, and undid the top few buttons to a more comfortable fit, and then leaned down and scrunched her knee socks down around her ankles. It was only in the eighties, but the humidity made her feel sticky hot, like she had spilt a snowball all over her skin and then went sun bathing, which was totally ridiculous, as Abby would never go sunbathing. The thought made her skin itch.

After walking a few blocks, she caught the streetcar on St Charles and then walked a few blocks back to Rue de la Course, her favorite coffee shop. Although she loved her neighborhood in Metairie, she loved the accessibility that Uptown offered. Everything was a few blocks and a streetcar ride away. The independence of it, the fact that she didn't have to worry about catching rides… it was all so nice.

There were benefits of Metairie though. All the neighbors knew her parents and brother were deaf, and had learned various amounts of signing. Her brother also had a lot of friends there, but had almost none at school. Abby would never think of asking her parents to move, no matter how cool she thought it would be. She convince them to let her go to school Uptown. She liked most everything about the school, except the teachers, most of the students, the uniform, and the food. So she pretty much didn't like any of it, except the school part and the architecture, which was perfect for climbing out of windows, taking short cuts, and (of course) sliding down rails.

The coffee shop was larger then most, and overall was more Abby friendly than most. Small, dark, wooden tables were lined in perfect rows with tall chairs on either sides. Abby chose one close to the window so she could people watch. She dropped her backpack near the door and went to stand in line for a ham sandwich and something fizzy and full of caffeine. Her current obsession was the pomegranate soda, but it was a little lacking in sweetness to her taste. She ordered and made her way back to her table.

Abby organized her food on her plate, and then gingerly took a small bite off the side and washed it down with a delicate sip of the pomegranate soda. She put the sandwich down, swished the liquid around in her mouth, swallowed, and then dug in for serious. Once she had scarffed down both items on the table, she stacked the empty cup on the crumb filled plate and pushed them too the far corner of the table. Pulling out her notebooks, she ordered them first by color in a pile and pushed them to the other corner. Next her pens were lined up (also by color), then her pencils (by height), and finally a calculator and Bert came out of her bag and were placed on the table, organized to Abby's satisfaction.

She opened her first notebook (red) and was delighted to find a page full of math problems. Rubbing her hands together, she muttered under her breath, "Yes... Yes, my little minions. Come to Mama! We'll have you sorted out in no time."

A man at the next table cast her a curious glance, but went back to his work when he saw who it was. Abby was at Rue de la Course nearly every day after school, and all the regulars were used to her. She loved them for that, that they didn't mind her quirks, her muttering to herself, her enthusiasm over the little things… She was some sort of 'normal' to them, while at school she was just some sort of outcast.

Exhibit A. There was rarely a person that Abby truly hated in the world. It was her humble opinion that the opposite of love wasn't hate it was fear, and Abby feared no one. Except those that she claimed to hate. And she hated to admit it, but that meant she feared them. She knew it, but she wouldn't let them know.

Them being Them. The undeniable opposing force, that if you were lucky, you had nothing to do with. There was a Them, and then there was an Us. And Abby's Us was smaller than most, but also closer. Sadly, this meant the Them was more numerous.

And They managed to be everywhere.

A signature giggle alerted Abby to Their presence. She looked up slowly, hopping that They weren't really there. They were. She closed her eyes and then opened them quickly. Still there. She shook her head so fast her pigtails beat against her face. Still there, just out of focus and doing some strange wavery dance like the time Abby was little and thought her mom's drive threw daiquiri was a slurpee.

There was another giggle, which forced Abby to finally focus in on the two girls in front of her. One was a brunette and the other a red head, both wearing their school's plaid skirt and button down, but looking a lot more… mature then Abby. There was something about the way they wore their hair (long, shiny and wavy) and the meticulous makeup that sat on their faces (rather than caked, as Abby's did) and just the way they held themselves, shoulders back, nose in the air, very much looking down at Abby (she was short to begin with, so they almost always looked down at her).

"Hey, Abigail!" the brunette said with a smile. The other one giggled into her palm.

Abby sat up as straight as she could and put a sweet grin on her face, "Hey, Darla. Hey, Angie."

Angie, the red head, put her arm around Darla's shoulders, and both of them laughed again. Abby tried not to roll her eyes. "Sooo… how's… homework," the girl's giggled again, "going?" Angie asked, smirking.

Closing her math book slowly, Abby debated how best to handle the situation. "Well…" she pursed her lips, thinking… "I… I…" and then it hit her, "I'm only half way done our English paper, but – "

The girl's stopped laughing, and Angie's jaw went slack. "Wait, English paper? We don't have an English paper…"

Abby let her eyes go wide with disbelief. "Yes, we do… it's due tomorrow."

"What the hell?" Darla sputtered. "What is it on?"

Abby let her head clunk downwards and then bob back up in incredulously. "It's on Jean Lafitte. Five pages. Due _tomorrow_."

They looked at each other, mirror images of fear. "Oh my God…" "We're screwed…" "There's no way…" "How are we going to…" "I can't…"

Abby scooped ice out of her empty cup and shoveled it into her mouth, smirking quietly to herself as Angie and Darla dashed out of the coffee shop without a goodbye, headed to the library Abby supposed, to do a paper that didn't exist.

Oh, life is good.

**I'm planning on doing Gibbs, Jenny, Kelly (pretending she had lived to be a teen), Ziva, Tony, and McGee. I would do Kate, but I haven't seen many of her episodes :-\ If you have suggestions for anyone else, or want to request which characters chapter comes next… Reviewwwww :]**


	2. Tony

**Hello, 114 people who have viewed this story and Kaddie K and LittleHogwartsGirl – who wrote reviews! Much love :D**

**So… Here's Tony. **

--

Tony hated holidays. While the rest of his classmates went home, Tony usually had to stay at school, left to watch them trickle out slowly into freedom, while he sat on his bed, swim suit issue in hand, and pretended to be fully immersed and not at all angry that he was being left nearly alone at school by his father for the millionth time. The only thing worse was when his father made him come back home.

Which was where he was now. A week and a half for Christmas break in a neighborhood where he was rather a legend. In this part of town, most of the kids went to private school or where home schooled by tutors. But none of them went to boarding school. That was for remedial kids. The kids who have issues. Who make trouble. Who are bad.

Not that Tony minded that reputation. At fifteen, it was a good thing. Half the girls wanted a guy with the "bad boy" rep to tick off their parents. Not that they actually wanted a bad boy though. No, they had their dreams of Prince Charming. Tony snorted and shoved another handful of popcorn into his mouth.

This was a pretty awesome movie, he wasn't going to lie. He liked _The Breakfast Club_, but thought that _Pretty in Pink_ was lame. But this Ferris Bueller movie –he put his feet on the chair in front of him and his hands behind his head – now this was awesome.

The girl he was with (Melisa? Melanie? Melody?) looked bored. Every few minutes she would yawn and stretch, glancing at Tony out of the side of her eyes. He ignored her fidgeting. Finally, when her moving and sighing got unbearable, he turned and asked in a loud, pointed voice, "Isn't this movie great?"

She smiled and stopped squirming, put a hand on his leg, and leaned forward, pressing her lips to his neck. Tony lifted his chin, trying to see the screen over her ponytail. "I know something a lot more _interesting _we could be doing," the girl whispered. She wriggled again, and Tony had to crane his neck uncomfortably.

"Mmm…" was all he could say. Ferris was singing 'Twist and Shout' on a float. Tony's jaw hit the girl's head as a smile spread across her face.

"Ouch!" she hissed, as her hand few up to the top of her head, accidentally smacking Tony's face on the way.

"Hey!" he cried, grabbing both her hands and pushing her back into her chair.

Now the three were talking, but Tony couldn't quite tell what. He felt his nose wrinkle in distaste. He hated people who talked during movies.

He felt a pressure against his shoulder, like something was rubbing against it, "Tonnnnyyy," the girls whined. Her voice was so annoying. He looked down in disgust to see it was her head rubbing against him. Jerking his shoulder, Tony looked around the theater. A couple of people were staring at them in amusement, a couple were glaring.

"What are you doing?" He said, punctuating each word with a shoulder jerk.

Something wet dragged across his cheek. My God, was he? She was licking him! _Licking_ him! He pushed her away, "Listen, this is awful nice of you, but could we postpone this for later?" He asked her, giving what he hoped was begging eyes. "This is a good movie. Normally I wouldn't do this -" which was true "- but this is a really, really, really good movie."

She sighed and put her head on his shoulder. "Alright."

But not five minutes, she was fidgeting. Again. "Tonnny," she wined. "This movie is boring."

Tony stared at her. Finally he just shook his head, "Then why don't you leave?"

The girl's mouth formed a perfect 'o.' She glared at him, then sat up straight in her seat, arms crossed. "I thought this was a date," she hissed, "I thought that you were interested in me, not this stupid movie," her voice was getting louder and louder, making Tony glance around the theater again. A theater employee was talking to a couple sitting a few rows in front of them. They kept glancing back at Tony and the girl.

He elbowed her. "Listen," he whispered, "I'm sorry. Can't you just be quiet though, because – "

"Be quiet? Be quiet? This whole 'date' you have been – "

A sudden, bright light shone in Tony's face. He put a hand over his eyes, and turned to face the grim looking employee with a flashlight. "Excuse me," the man said, looking at the two of them, "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

The girl let out an indignant "humph" but began to pick up her bags. Tony just sat up straight. "Listen, I wasn't talking, don't make me leave. It was all her really – "

The man motioned with his flashlight. "Out."

"But – "

"Now."

"I really wasn't doing anything though! Ask them…" He pointed to the people behind them. Suddenly, there was a breath on his shoulder, and he felt a face leaning in from behind him.

"The young man was just watching the movie," said a wheezy, old lady voice. Tony turned to see a thin face next to his, leaning over from behind. "The young woman now…" She made a disdainful noise.

The man with the flashlight thought for a moment. "Okay. But you," he shone the flashlight in the girl's face, and the blinked and swatted at the light, "out."

The girl gasped, but grabbed her bag and stood up, with as much dignity as she could muster. She stomped out of the aisle, turned to give Tony a final glare, and , as an after thought, a hearty slap on the face (which Tony was mildly impressed by – he might have to call later and ask for forgiveness…) and then she turned with a determined look on her face and stalked out of the theater. The man with the flashlight followed her.

Tony turned to the woman behind him. "Thank you."

"Anytime," she said with a smile, patting his shoulder and sitting back in her chair.

Tony turned and faced forward again, and with a content smile, leaned back in his chair, put his arms behind his neck and his feet on the chair in front of them.

"Life moves pretty fast. You don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."

Amen, Ferris, Amen.

--

**Review?**


	3. Ziva

**Ziva! She wants you to review. Do it.**

**I don't own characters. **

**I don't know the settings.**

**I don't know the languages.**

**I don't know, so correct me if I'm wrong.**

**Ps, sorry HalfBloodLover, I wrote this before your comment! Next will be Gibbs, promise :]**

Ziva swung her legs under her chair, but stopped when her father glared at her. לנשום_, _לנשום_, _לנשום, she repeated in her head. _Respire, respire, respire_. French. _дышать, дышать, дышать_. Russian. _Respira, respira, respira_. Spanish. _Breathe, Breathe, Breathe. _English.

It didn't help.

The funeral, of course, had been miserable. Two weeks ago. Now, Ziva was in DC with her father, doing something for someone. If Ziva thought about it, she would probably understand. She didn't feel like thinking though, so she didn't. Instead she just pretended she knew what was going on, that she knew why she was here, that she knew how her dad could keep moving, keep going, keep working, while all Ziva could think about was the fact that Tali was dead.

Those words felt weird in her mouth. Tali was dead. Foreign, some language she didn't know, didn't know the origin of, which was strange because she knew origins, she knew backgrounds, she could recognize every language there was (except a few obscure Islander ones) if she couldn't speak them all. She knew dialects, regions, she knew she knew she knew.

Ziva often felt disconnected. Like stepping off a plane in a new country. She wasn't there, she was at home. She wasn't walking through a foreign airport, she was sitting in class, day dreaming. She wasn't. She was. She wasn't. She was.

"Ziva," her father hissed, putting a hand on her thigh. She looked down at her lap startled. Her legs had started swinging again.

She closed her eyes and continued her calming exercises, languages and words and phrases. She recited. She echoed. She repeated.

Going with her dad on business trips was something Ziva did often. Her dad believed she should see the world. She viewed it as a learning experience, or at least, that's what she told people. In truth, she just liked that out of all her siblings, she was picked to go. And maybe her dad was telling the truth when he said that it was only because she was the oldest. But something inside her said, "favorite" and something inside of her liked that. She didn't see her dad much, and when she did, she was never under the impression he enjoyed her company. So if she thought about it, it was rather a mystery why he would take her. If she thought about it, it wouldn't make sense. So she didn't think about it.

So she wasn't thinking about why she was there. She wasn't thinking about her sister's death. She wasn't thinking about stuff she didn't understand. She wasn't thinking.

It was cold here, and it was giving her the sniffles. Even indoors, in this fancy lobby. She crossed her legs slowly and glanced around. Everything about this place was uncomfortable. It was all black and white, and all the suits and dresses blended right in with the office place camouflage.

After twenty minutes, her father left the waiting room with a man with a wrinkled face. After they were gone for a few minutes, Ziva decided it was time to make her exit. She didn't want to be here. She didn't want to be here. She wasn't needed here. So she nodded to the secretary, holding her stomach in a way to indicate she needed to use the restroom. It was easier to pretend to not understand then to be forced into false pleasantries. Unnecessary small talk in languages Ziva was not comfortable with made her queasy. The woman began babbling at her, but Ziva didn't even worry about translating it. She just walked out of the door, down the stairs, through the lobby and into the street.

Time to find that McDonalds she had noticed earlier.

A few blocks later, she was face to face with all stereotypes American. She grinned as she inhaled the fatty grease. Chicken tenders. Fries. _Hamburgers_. She glanced in the window on the door to see how long the line was. It was pretty bad for eleven in the morning, but she did not feel like finding another establishment. She pushed the door open, but then stopped as she was about to walk through. Shoving her hands in her pockets, she cursed her stupidity in several languages and walked back outside. She leaned against one of the rather grimy walls. Glancing around, she sniffled, folded her arms, and began walking in the direction she had come from. It was hard to find the right dolt, but…

"Hey!" she ran into something a little bony, a little muscular. Stumbling a little, her arms flew out and grabbed a shoulder, steadying herself.

The boy, a few years older than her, jerked a little, but didn't seem that upset to have Ziva flush against him. He put a hand on her arm and helped her catch her balance."You okay?" Ziva pulled away, and the boy let go, but a second too slowly.

Smoothing her skirt, she kept her eyes trained on the ground. "Yes. I believe so," she peered up at him through heavy eyelashes. He was good looking, she admitted it. Blondish hair, condescending smirk. _Americans_. "Thank you," she smiled and was gone, in less then a second, leaving the dolt standing scanning the crowd, looking for the faceless girl who had effortlessly disappeared into the crowd.

But she was gone, turning the corner, circling the block, walking back into the McDonalds, but this time spinning a leather wallet between her fingers. Ziva waited in line and ordered a bad cup of coffee and large fries. She smirked as she pulled a ten out of the boy's wallet, and the smirk turned into a grin when she thought of what the expression on his face when he realized it was missing and who must have stolen it. Flipping through the rest of the wallet's content, she laughed at the nuddies the boy carried around. _Very unrealistic_, she thought, looking down at her own breasts. Finally she found an ID.

"Tony Dinozzo," she laughed and leaned against one of the walls, looking at the driver's license. "What an idiot… what… an… idiot…"

**I know I said no AU, but I couldn't help it! Plus, I don't think I'm going to try to write a different country (besides France) again. That was hard. This wasn't really that AU anyway. It could have happened. You never know.**

**(Um, ps, shameless plug here, but I have a Harry Potter fic up that I would like to know if it's worth continuing… if anyone wants to check that out…)**


	4. Gibbs

**HalfBloodLover – thou asketh and thou shalt receive!**

**Did you know that there are only SIX romance stories about Shannon and Gibbs? What's up with that? There are so many untold stories… untapped potential… if anyone decides to write about them, message me – I wanna read it.**

**I think teenage Gibbs, when forced to speak, would be rather bumbling and embarrassed and cute. I think he didn't get so Gibbs-y till after Kelly and Shannon died.**

**Gibbs.**

--

He was in detention the first time he saw her. The girl with the red hair. He was in Ms. Norris' art classroom, the one with the big windows lining front and side. The classroom had that dusty feeling that made the mornings feel dirty and cold, but by the afternoon, when the sun was shining through the making all the wood seem golden instead of a grimy brown in a way that had almost a mystical quality to it. Like you could capture the dust moats floating in the air. Or something like that. There was a large sink in the back, which audibly had a leak. It was making him rather antsy, but no more so than the sound of kids running around and laughing outside, which he could hear clearly through an open window. Ms. Norris him had left twenty minutes ago, saying something about the restroom. He knew she wouldn't be coming back till detention was over. He had spent so much time in detention with her, that she trusted him not to leave.

Anyway, that's where he first saw the girl with the red hair. Oh, no, of course not. She wasn't in detention too. He could never imagine her in detention. Not that he was that good at imagining or anything. He was sure, well he thought, well, she might have been in detention once or twice. She wasn't exactly a saint. Wait, no, he didn't mean it that way. It's just… she wasn't… he could see being in detention, that's all.

So he saw her. She was standing outside, right near the window. Not the one that was open, but the one a few over from it. Her hair matched the golden red color of the leaves, but her light green sweater stood out amongst her darkly clothed peers. She was watching a few boys kick around some sort of makeshift ball out of the corners of her eyes, while talking to a girl with curly brown hair.

It was like watching a movie, but so much clearer and in bright color. The sky was a vivid light blue, and a few wispy clouds trailed across the sky. There was no wind that he could see, which was surprising, as this morning there had been a crisp breeze. The way the girl with the brown curly hair kept folding her arms or pressing her hands to her cheeks gave him the impression that it was still pretty cool, but the girl with the red hair… she looked so at ease. So relaxed. So perfectly comfortable and content.

Suddenly, the ball the boys were passing around landed near her feet. The girl with the brown hair laughed and took a step back, as if to make room for the boys to come and get it. But the girl with the red her stepped forward, and in one fluid motion kicked the ball up and over the heads of a few boys who had run forward to grab it, landing somewhere in the midst of a few of the boys a few yards off. A few of them looked surprised, but a lot clapped in appreciation. The girl with the brown hair patted her on the back, laughing, and the red haired girl pretended to curtsy, before resuming her conversation with the brown haired girl.

He smiled at this. The casual manner she had about her. He liked the way she took credit, but didn't bask. She did what she did and was done. Matter of fact. The brown haired girl said something that made her laugh, and for a moment, she looked down at her shoes, chucking at the ground, and then she looked over and into the classroom. Her glance swept across the room, but he looked down before her eyes could meet his.

Suddenly, he felt as if he was an intruder, trespassing on someone else's memory. He pulled out the keys to his house out of his pocket, and began to trace squares into the desks surface. He didn't mind being in detention. There was no one here to yell at him, or to try to figure him out. A lot of people tried to do that. They asked why he was so quiet. They asked why he only listened. They asked why he misbehaved, why he cut class, why he didn't really care for the facts, but would follow instinct without proof. They asked why liked to make things only to give them away. They asked why he liked boats but not sailing. They asked why why why. But they rarely waited for an answer, unless it was an audible one.

He finished making the outline of a grid, and then started shading in alternating spots. Soon, a small chessboard began to appear on the desk before him. He forced himself not to look up and out the window, but he knew the girl was still there. The shadows on the floor became longer as the sun set, and soon the room was filled with a rather pinkish glow instead of a golden one. He could hear the kids outside laughing, when there was a sudden, loud scream. He jumped up to see the brown haired girl pointing at something on the ground. The red haired girl was no where in sight. He darted to the window, and saw the red haired girl lying in the grass, looking very pale.

"She fainted!" the brown haired girl cried, dropping to her knees and grabbing her friend's hand. "She fainted and hit her head!"

A few girls dashed over and huddled around the girl, all talking in nervous, loud tones, while a few boys dashed over to see what the commotion was about.

Later, he would admit he panicked. He was no doctor. He didn't even know if the brown haired girl was right, if the girl really did just faint and hit her head. For all he knew there was something seriously wrong with her. But he knew was he had to do something. Looking around frantically, he jumped over a few tables and grabbed a large mug full of old tea off of Ms Norris' desk. Then he dashed to the back and emptied it in the sink. Turning on the faucets, he filled up the cup with cold water, and then, trying to spill it, dashed to the open window and climbed through it. Some of the water sloshed onto his shirt when he landed on the ground, but he ignored it other then glancing down to make sure he hadn't spilled it all. He shoved aside the girls and boys who had gathered around and finally caught site of the red haired girl. She was breathing, but her eyes were still closed, and the brown haired girl was shaking her and crying. A few kids were running towards the entrance of the building for help.

Without hesitation, he emptied the cup of water on her face. A few kids grabbed at him in surprise, but stopped when she jerked, sputtered, and opened her eyes to stare right up at Jethro.

"You're eyes are the same color as my shoes." She said it in such a mater of fact tone he didn't really know what to say. So instead, he told her friend, "Get her to sit up. And put her head between her knees."

The brown haired girl shot him a reproachful glance, "That could have made her go into _shock_."

Gibbs said nothing, and only waited till the girl helped her friend to a sitting position. He watched as color slowly came back into the red haired girl's cheeks. Finally she looked up, blinking several times. "Where am I?" she asked, looking around. Jethro turned around, walking back to the class room.

"You fainted," he heard someone tell her.

"Oh. Why am I wet?" her voice was still distinguishable, even above the rumble of the other students.

"Some guy poured water on you to wake you up," there was a strain in the voice who said this. They all knew who he was. He was Leroy Jethro Gibbs. The quiet tall one who the girl's didn't look in the eye and the boys got in fights with and the teachers hated. The outsider. Yeah, some guy. Jethro pulled himself through the window.

He stood inside the classroom, watching as the kids began to disperse. He could make out the top of the girl's head now, but that was it."Where is he?"

There was a pause. Jethro waited for the brown haired girl to say something. Finally, he heard a low, "I don't know."

He tugged the window closed, and it hit the sill with a sudden bang. The last rays of the sun were shining through the windows. It was the end of detention, and time to go home.

--

**Would ya'll mind if I sort of broke cannon again? It's a little hard to resist, I admit. I know I said this is all non AU, but if it's written in a plausible way… do you mind, do you mind?**

**I already wrote one for McGee, so that will be up as soon as I get on my other computer. Who else do you want to see? I'm not doing Ari, Duckie, or Jimmy. **


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